


a helping hand

by arcanamagnus



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars II
Genre: (not described in detail though), Aftermath of Torture, Half Romance Half Villain Origin Story, M/M, On the Run, Prison, Prison Escape, Social Issues, discussion of workplace harassment and abuse, even when he's trying to be selfless, progressively lightens up but does start out heavy, starscream needs to learn to be less of a selfish ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22816753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanamagnus/pseuds/arcanamagnus
Summary: Even after the Great Reformatting, society continues to snub Predacons.Starscream finds himself at the lowest low in his entire life, and meets a mech that will change his entire future.
Relationships: BB/Starscream (Transformers)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You may have noticed that I am rather behind on my monthly update schedule on my other fics, but I already had a few chapters of this one written and edited so I was like "hey, why don't I post That with an actual regular schedule already?"  
> So yay, BBscream backstory!!!

Starscream had never expected to fail. Plans had been made meticulously, charm applied carefully, and cruelty done ruthlessly, but all fell apart in seconds because of a deadly miscalculation. Starscream had been ready to  _ kill _ for career advancement, but never for being imprisoned and blacklisted and made to share a cell with an  _ actual dangerous murderer _ .

The sound of the energy bars turning on had been like a raw energon shard to the spark. He was alone for now, but it did not make him any calmer. Any time now he'd meet his new cellmate, and soon enough he'd meet the other prisoners.  _ Starscream was not made for this. _

But all he had to do was wait.

And wait he did.

Late into third shift, the energon bars deactivated suddenly and a large mass was roughly thrown inside the cell before the bars were reactivated. It glowed with stripes of spilt energon and Starscream's horror only grew as he detected a glowing visor — cracked and dirty, but still functional — sparking with some emotion he couldn’t comprehend.

A thousand thoughts whirled in his processor, all of them absolutely  _ terrified _ for his own well-being — Was  _ that _ his cellmate? Would the same thing happen to  _ him _ ? —, but all of them disappeared into white noise when the mech groaned in pain and weakly dragged themself to the larger of the two slabs — thankfully Starscream had the sense to take the small one —, completely collapsing once there.

They did not move after that, outside a weak shiver, but the pained moans and grunts and creaks did not stop, and that made Starscream's traitorous good nature  _ twitch _ . After far too much cacophony, that medical instinct had him slowly rise from his own pathetic excuse for a bed and tiptoe to stand by his cellmate's.

What little of the injuries he could see under the light of the bars and the natural glow of energon seemed absolutely ghastly, though not particularly life-threatening. No, these wounds were inflicted to _ hurt _ . Nothing he'd seen at Lifeline Memorial could've prepared him for this, especially devoid of tools as he was.

But still, he had to do  _ something _ , so he improvised.

Starscream carefully touched the mech's shoulder to get their attention, barely keeping himself from flinching when they moved to face him.

"Don’t panic," he said more to himself than anything, "You're very large and I'll need your help to move you into a better position. Can you do this for me?"

The mech just looked through him, as if seeing nothing.

"Alright, we'll have to do this the hard way, then. Try not to kill me by accident."

It was surprisingly easy to rearrange the limbs and wing panels — the joints were so  _ loose _ ; it was positively eerie —, but there was nothing he could do about the torso. There was nothing he could use to block pain, but pressing on exposed neural relays should numb it just a little. He debated wiping the energon streaks with his fingers, but his only option to clean them would be to lick them, and he was  _ not _ drinking some stranger's energon, even in good faith — oral lubricant might have a considerable concentration of antiseptic nanites, but he was not that much of a savage just yet.

Starscream surveyed his work, and judged it to be the best he could do under current conditions. His cellmate looked much more relaxed now, and when their gazes met he could swear he felt a level of  _ thankfulness _ he'd never seen in any of the big shots back at the hospital.  _ Weird _ .

* * *

Guards appeared again at the start of first shift, and Starscream awakened with a jump as a lone medic among the lot of them tended to his cellmate's injuries with such force and lack of care that the hulking mech on the slab was howling in pain. Starscream had been a true butcher of a nurse, but he'd always disguised it well enough that it mostly went unmentioned until his little mishap with the poison called all his actions into question, and it was frightening that this full blown medic could be so cruel so openly.

He dared not move a servo the entire time the guards and doctor were there, lest they turn their attention to him. Once they left, Starscream finally allowed himself to panic. The hold he had over his cooling fans was overrun, and he could swear he felt his optics  _ leak _ instead of just spark.  _ What was he  _ doing _ here? _

Starscream had never been a good person, he was very well aware of that, but too many of his superiors had been much lower than he'd ever get. Why weren’t  _ they _ where he was now? He knew the answer, of course; they were Maximals, and, though Lifeline Memorial Hospital was neutral ground, Maximal justice would never condemn them over all they did to him — and the Predacons that came into their care, yes, but this wasn’t about them.  _ That _ side of the story didn't get investigated; after all, how would they make a case against a head nurse or ward manager or chief surgeon over harassment and coercion of Predacon underlings on  _ Predacon _ justice when the accuser is already being investigated for greater charges by Maximal? No, now  _ Starscream _ had to be the one subject to physical violence on top of moral at the whim of guards and medics and whoever else decided they had power over him. There was no way he could take as much punishment as that mountain of a mech across the room — he was built too  _ delicately _ — and the fear had all his survival subroutines screaming and turning his optical feed red.

He was almost venting steam by the time a heavy hand came to lay on his shoulder. Starscream  _ squeaked _ — and didn’t he wish he'd made good on his name, like he  _ never _ did, instead —before anger overtook him and he yanked the hand from himself.

"Don’t touch me!" He snarled, but the perceived pity on his cellmate's impassive visor — face all hidden in a built-in mask, one they couldn’t just _take_ — told him that he probably still looked like a frightened little avianoid.

To their credit, at least his cellmate didn’t push — and wasn’t it crazy that a convicted criminal respected his boundaries more than his coworkers had? Still, Starscream kept a wary eye on the mech that decided to kneel by his bedside in some presumed show of support. It pressed a little too hard on the open wound of how much he hated feeling vulnerable, and he wasn't about to open himself up to a possible attack — of any nature.

The patches of grey surgical mesh covering scuffed lavender plating reminded Starscream that, in a way, he _ started _ this, and a tiny bit of him wanted to double-check the work on those wounds. But that'd be… too much to expect from himself right now. So he just held his cellmate's gaze until a guard came to take him for refuelling.


	2. Chapter 2

The new cellmate was… nice, Black Bomber thought. He was still squirrelly and flinched at loud sounds and sudden movements, but he also still tended to Black Bomber's wounds every other orn. The onslaught of the guards upon him never truly ceased — while they should have at this point noticed that they wouldn’t get a single byte of information from him, he was at the same time expendable and built to last, perfect fuel for the sadistic tendencies of this Maximal scum —, but what little that tiny blue jet could do for him was much needed respite.

It wouldn't do to mistake it all for kindness, though. As long as Black Bomber was  _ quiet _ , the little medic — those had definitely been medical crosses where the paint was stripped on his shoulder winglets — would keep to himself and not give him the time of day. Well, Black Bomber was inordinately good at being quiet in face of extreme pain — his torturers had made sure of it —, but he didn't mind letting loose a little for a chance at connection. It looked like that panicky mech needed it, too.

“Sometimes I think you like this,” he said one of those nights, twisting a neural relay just so that it sparked a sharp pain in Black Bomber’s inner workings before smoothing it back into its normal sensory feed, “I could hurt you much worse than you already are, and you’d  _ let me _ . You just stay there,  _ silent _ . It’s so creepy.”

Black Bomber wanted to reply that he couldn’t exactly do much about the silence, that he could try and try, but something was  _ broken _ , and, well, that was self-explanatory. If he could, he also wouldn’t know  _ what _ to say. He let his new cellmate poke and prod at him for reasons even he couldn’t explain — it was just  _ different _ .

“And you don’t even try to explain yourself when I point it out to you. Which is a plus, I guess? I’ve had so many  _ idiots _ try an’ tell me exactly  _ why _ they had a data slug shoved up their exhaust and I just—," he took his hands off Black Bomber in an exaggerated gesture, then sighed, “This is as much as I can do for you. I don’t even know why I  _ bother… _ ”

It had been a little strange when the new cellmate had first started talking to him during — the disgruntled mumbling turned dramatic ranting —, but he quickly began to appreciate the little rambles and the tidbits of personal life that seeped through in them. It had been particularly memorable when he  _ finally _ got to learn his name. That he also got to learn his charge was just an interesting addition.

“—And it was like, ‘of course  _ Starscream _ tried to kill the ward manager, it’s in the name’! But they blocked off literally all my chances at a promotion, or even a raise! I’m good at what I do! I’m fixing you up with nothing but my bare, untransformable hands all the time, but oh no,  _ Starscream _ is a Pred and a bitch, so no career advancement for him. Hmph!” Starscream — wasn’t it nice to finally have a name for him? — went quiet for almost a klik then, vocaliser clicking with aborted speech commands, “...You’re a Predacon, right?” He finally said, tentative. And it was amazing that it was the first time he’d actually acknowledged Black Bomber as more than something to fiddle with and rant at.

Still, it was difficult to answer. Not because the answer wasn’t clear or direct or anything, just his stupid broken vocaliser clicking and sputtering until he could get out a simple, strained “Roger”.

“Huh,” Starscream tilted his head at the strange response, but didn’t press or make fun of him, so Black Bomber counted it as a win in his book, “Well, I  _ am _ Predacon in heritage, was obviously created by some old glory days mechs, what with the name, but I was never really… as into the whole faction thing as they were. Wanted to just live my life and get my little hands inside machinery, but you can’t even do  _ that _ with the way things are.”

That was also the first time Starscream continued to talk to him after he was done, and it seemed to have been a sort of a tipping point in their acquaintanceship: Starscream didn’t seem quite as fearful of him during light cycle, and Black Bomber would occasionally answer tiny little yes-or-no questions with either his stereotyped speech or a simple shake of his head. 

It was much more than he could have said for any of his previous cellmates. He’d had ones who were just wary of him, ones that delighted in torturing him further, ones who just ignored him… but never one who he could be friendly with. And he knew it was intentional, that his cellmates were carefully selected to torment him in one way or another, physically or psychologically. Starscream must’ve been placed with this purpose too — and didn’t his rather concerning tales of medical malpractice fuel this theory —, but it seemed to have either backfired or, if he wanted to catastrophise, taken a turn for a more insidious and utterly twisted form of torture: emotional.

Still, he  _ liked _ Starscream. He was self-absorbed and fickle, but his gentle streak showed so readily that Black Bomber found it difficult to believe the horror stories he spun about his nursing career. Well, maybe just a little — the roughness in his handling definitely wouldn’t have been taken too well by Maximals, and he’d been obviously surrounded by them long enough to internalise their moralism —, but that was just fine.

The fear lingered, though, both ways. Honour between thieves perhaps, but Starscream wasn’t enough of a criminal to believe it or be bound by it, Black Bomber feared. Sometimes even the veterans weren’t.


	3. Chapter 3

Starscream hadn’t honestly expected to survive more than a few decaorns, maybe a quartex, in the Maximal Correctional Facility. He’d expected… worse, somehow. Yes, he was still absolutely terrified, and the ghastly state his cellmate stumbled back into their little cell all those times felt like a message: they could do the same to him whenever they wanted. But still, they hadn’t.  _ Yet _ .

It was strange, that he was allowed to have social lunches and dinners, but his cellmate wasn’t. Starscream’s mind couldn’t help but wander, dream up terrible things they might’ve done to warrant such treatment, but his disillusion with law under Pax Cybertronia upheld that it might’ve been  _ anything _ . He could ask, maybe, but he didn’t feel like he’d get an answer, what with the strange speech patterns they exhibited, and he hadn’t exactly befriended any other prisoners who could tell him — he still felt a few levels above the  _ ilk _ he’d seen in here so far.

Still, he could say he sort of enjoyed the near silent company of his cellmate, when disarmed or as far from him as possible. Talking at them was therapeutic, somehow. Even better that they did not respond beyond quiet hums and that ever present, rather curious “Roger”. It didn’t help his curiosity though, so he eventually had to turn the tables and extort  _ some  _ basic personal information besides faction.

“Do you have a name?” Starscream asked quietly, sitting on his bed in the half light of the energon bars. This orn his cellmate hadn’t been taken away and brought back bloodied, and they’d traded very little in the way of words — well, Starscream did anyway.

Silence. And then another elusive “Roger”.

“May… I know it? You’ve been hearing me talk out of my afterburners for a quartex now and I still know just about zero about you.”

Another patch of silence, but he could see movement from the corner of his optical feed so he turned to them, finally. It was Cybertronian Sign Language, a little hard to see, but still recognisable.

“Are you fingerspelling? Can you start again?”

His cellmate stopped, but nodded. They repeated the sign for “B” twice — initials, probably — and then made the one for “he”.

“So I call you BB?”

BB shrugged and said a noncommittal “Roger”.

“Huh.” Starscream looked off to the side, some sort of feeling settling in. He couldn’t really describe it, though. 

Silence settled in again, and Starscream sat awake all night trying to understand what was that strange twang deep in his internal mechanisms.

* * *

The feeling stayed, somehow. It was unnerving. He still couldn’t really put a name to it, but it made him  _ itch _ , had his fingers struggle with the mode lock trying to transform into claws. It was…  _ soft _ , gooey. Like protoform build-up, but Starscream  _ knew _ he wasn’t getting enough extra minerals to start gunking up. So  _ what was it _ ?

He spent lunch grinding his teeth on the lip of a cube until realisation hit him and he finally bit hard enough to disrupt the forcefield and suddenly energon was all over him, but all he could think about was how well and truly  _ fucked _ he was. Putting a name to a face shouldn’t have had that effect on him, it never had in the hospital because honestly he had too much going on to care, but sharing almost every waking moment made it so, so  _ personal _ that it made his empty tanks lurch.

And it seemed that the unexpected energon bath shorted out the mode lock they’d put on him because when he snapped back into focus his claws were dug deep into the metal of his palm. It seemed that the guards had noticed too, because soon enough he was being manhandled by mechs twice as bulky as him and taken away through a dark corridor he’d never seen before, and now Starscream felt that maybe he’d assumed safety too soon.

* * *

He came to with a struts-deep ache and a pool of energon dripping from his mouth. Correcting his optical feed took longer than it should have, but his proximity sensors were going off, and Starscream  _ tried _ to move and take a swipe at whatever it was that was crowding him, but his motor systems were unresponsive and he started to panic.

As soon as image stabilised, he found himself faced with a figure that probably shouldn't be as reassuring as it was.

"Roger?" BB had an uncertain hand up in the air as if to touch him and Starscream's first impulse was to hiss and cower, but he could still hardly move and there was  _ something _ in his mouth. So he yielded.

He blinked twice as a  _ go ahead _ and braced himself for  _ contact _ . Starscream loathed being touched, much more in such a vulnerable position, but what else was he to do?

The contact that did come was surprisingly careful, gentle. Starscream was picked up on strong arms and laid as comfortably as possible — he'd even folded his wings to the sides instead of just putting him on his front! — on what he assumed was his own bed.

His limbs were limp, malleable like he hadn't finished solidifying quite yet. An idle thought crossed his mind that it felt a lot like being on really strong painkillers, except without the actual pain killing. A sedative then? The mere thought of that chilled the energon in his lines.

Thinking about energon, he never did get to refuel, did he? And what in the Pits was in his mouth? As soon as he had a semblance of movement he tried to jerk a hand up to get a feel on it, but BB grabbed Starscream’s shaky arm with a desperate manner about him.

He shook his head firmly, and made a pointed slit throat motion with his other hand. Starscream didn’t understand, not really, but he decided to heed the warning. Whatever it was that they had done to him, BB certainly had had more experience with it.

BB stayed with him, knelt on the floor, as the effects of the sedative wore off. It was very unnerving, but also strangely endearing. To know that at least he wasn’t alone in this accursed sense of companionship was certainly… alright. Starscream could live with it.

“T-thank you,” he fritzed out as soon as his vocaliser was in anything close to working order.

BB tipped his head, “Roger”, a rich, compassionate sound.

Yes, Starscream could get used to this strange camaraderie.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> currently fighting to acquire toys of these two, wish me luck lol

They put an inhibitor spike in Starscream’s mouth, and Black Bomber seethed about it. Not even  _ he _ had been subject to that particular punishment — the mode lock code did the job well enough — and he’d been resisting information extraction for  _ stellar cycles _ . What had the little guy done to warrant this? 

A more bitter side of him said  _ nothing, probably, they’re just trying to get at you _ ; the other, more rational, was  _ curious _ . Had Starscream done something to challenge structure, and done it so well as to warrant what was essentially a killswitch screwed into the roof of his mouth? Black Bomber desperately needed to know  _ what _ and  _ how _ .

He’d lashed out at his torturers the next time he was brought in. A threat display in the form of a growling engine and straightened struts was the most that he could do, but it was immense in light of his utter passiveness his entire captivity until then. He’d shown he  _ could _ be giving them so much more trouble if he wanted to, and that he wouldn’t take them hurting innocents — even if he wasn’t completely sure that was what Starscream was — to get at him.

They beat him maybe a little worse than usual, but he’d made his point. Starscream’s weakened state meant that there wasn’t much he could do for him, but Black Bomber’s righteous fury kept him from crashing when he was thrown back into the cell. He strutted as confidently as he could to the end of it and smoothly dropped to sit against the wall.

“Are you… alright?” Starscream asked, uncertain, after the guards were gone.

BB tried to answer with a shrug, but the motion pulled at his injuries and he winced instead. Starscream muffled a curse or two, forcing his aching frame to its knees by him. Black Bomber caught his hand before it could reach for the gashes on his flight panels, holding it with a gentle firmness before letting go. He shook his head and pure, unbridled confusion flashed in Starscream’s optics.

“Right,” his voice box clicked as he gathered himself, “I’ll… be here if you need anything. I know Sign, don’t worry about straining yourself.”

BB didn’t have the spark to tell him that  _ he _ didn’t actually know Sign besides the very basics, — fluency hadn’t been a requirement for his infiltration job, though now he wished he’d had the foresight to download the full course — but it seemed enough showed on his visor to give Starscream pause.

“You  _ do _ know Sign, don’t you? You signed your name to me.” He asked, almost frantic. “Or well, you signed me your initials. Oh Primus, you  _ don’t _ know Sign, do you?” 

BB shook his head, caught.

“Can you speak? More than ‘Roger’, I mean?”

BB shook his head again. Starscream looked horrified.

“Did— Did it happen in here?”

Black Bomber finally nodded a “yes”. His malfunction had been the byproduct of one of the first few times they’d tried to hack him, presumably. He remembered uttering a sarcastic “Roger” when they’d asked if he knew what they were about to do to him, and then not being able to cuss out his warden when they threw him back in the cell. He’d spent upward of a decaorn testing his vocaliser, only for it to only be able to spit out his last word and a handful other uncontrollable effects. He had a grasp on the “Roger” by now, at least.

A muffled rattle sounded in front of him, and soon he realised it must be Starscream’s sleek plating trembling. In fear, in anger? Of that Black Bomber couldn’t be sure, but he extended his hand back to Starscream, with the mindfulness to wait until he registered its presence before laying it on Starscream’s rattling shoulder. Sparking yellow optics looked up at him and, not really for the first time, Black Bomber felt a twinge in his spark that went further than simple sympathy.

Starscream shuttered his optics, squeezing them tight, then opened them with renewed resolve. “I can teach you.” He raised his hand to touch BB’s on his shoulder and held it firmly. “I can’t be sure what they did to you without any equipment, but, if it is what I think it is, I can also try to run some basic exercises to help rewire your vocal circuitry. Would that… be alright with you?”

BB was… surprised by the initiative, the kindness, to say the least. Despite their tentative friendship, Starscream didn't seem to be the type to just  _ help _ , for reasons other than to quell guilt or just "get his little hands inside machinery", as he put it. Maybe it was just the aching Cybertronian need to connect and communicate, but he nodded either way.

* * *

It was very clear that teaching was not Starscream’s vocation, at least not  _ language _ . He mentioned having been a mathematics tutor in nursing school, but also that he wasn’t sure how to translate that experience into teaching Cybertronian Sign Language, and that he was flying blind in this regard.

The method he’d chosen was to simply sign as he spoke, each and every single time, and then break down the sentences into what each sign meant and the syntax used. It turned the repair sessions both quieter and quicker, but Starscream would always talk to him after, sat right by him so BB would be able to see his hands.

Surprisingly enough, Black Bomber found himself actually  _ learning _ . It wasn’t near enough to hold a complete conversation, but he had so many more tools to communicate now, even if only with Starscream. And it was a  _ delight _ to see Starscream brighten whenever BB signed anything to him, even as he corrected him on technical and grammatical details.

Similarly, Starscream’s idea of speech therapy was nowhere near professional — he was operating completely on memories of the few rehab cases he’d assisted with — and, though Black Bomber had yet to see results, it did warm his spark.

Still, he suspected these interventions might’ve been calling too much attention to them. He could see in his peripheral vision other prisoners gather by the bars to watch and listen, and they’d more than once been interrupted by unscheduled patrols. He dreaded the possibility of more disciplinary action being taken regarding Starscream, this time on his behalf.


	5. Chapter 5

More and more, Starscream’s thoughts started to evolve from “I shouldn’t be here” to “ _ no one _ should be here”. From the inhibitor spike — the name and function of which he’s managed to ferret from BB’s attempts at signing — screwed inside his mouth to the reckless and possibly  _ permanent _ disabling of a disarmed and nonviolent prisoner, Starscream was itching to have a go at the Maximal carceral system as much as he had their medical one. If anything, being imprisoned just helped him justify his murder attempt to himself even more than he’d be inclined to otherwise. How many other Predacons (and even Maximals, but this wasn’t about them) must’ve been relegated to these nightmare conditions for things so very justifiable?

He’d get out of here somehow, and increasingly he found himself including BB in those plans. If they could even be called “plans” — Starscream was no crime genius, no connoisseur of correctional facilities, and honestly didn’t know  _ slag _ about this whole set-up, much less enough to successfully beat it —, but the care was there, at least.

And in the subject of care… helping BB communicate was increasingly beginning to  _ work _ . He’d abandoned any pretense of making it pretty and clean by the fifth orn and decided to focus on just making it  _ understandable _ . If the circuits responsible for mechanising (but not composing) speech were fried, petty things like articles, conjunctions and other accessory words would only fritz him further. It helped the signing a lot, actually, but Starscream was far from qualified enough to get him speaking — oh, what wouldn’t he give to just be able to cut him up and  _ fix this _ , but it’d still require much in the way of rehabilitation.

It was surprising, then, that when they really did come for Starscream, instead of the broken, senseless sounds he’d gotten out so far, BB yelled a clear and loud “NO!”

A zap of fondness ran through Starscream’s circuits and it  _ clicked _ that strong emotion might be a key for rewiring BB’s processor-vocaliser connections. With that in mind, he kept from struggling in the guards' grip, like he’d done when they decided to give him a more aggressive mode lock — he couldn’t afford to be out of commission when BB  _ needed him _ . They still handled him roughly, yes, they had no incentive  _ not _ to, but he tried to keep unnecessary damage to a minimum.

Surprisingly enough, he was taken to a regular questioning chamber, like those he’d been in when just apprehended, if only just worse off in terms of maintenance.

“Don’t I get my lawyer, boys?” He affected a playful tone, trying not to let the memories of his pretrial overtake him. “I still have the right to one, I’ll have you know.”

“You’ll find that is not necessary, Starscream of the Acid Wastes,” said an intimidating tall insectoid mech. Starscream was decidedly not afraid of him.

“Of  _ Stanix _ ,” he corrected, voice sharp but smile soft, “And I’d like my lawyer present either way, as I have  _ the right to _ .”

“Here you do not.” The mech gestured for him to take a seat, and the guards still holding him practically sat him on it like a little doll. It made his tanks lurch. “New information has come up regarding your case, and we’d be glad to reopen it and reevaluate your sentence, and yes, get you contact with your lawyer.  _ If _ ,” of course there had to be a catch, “you cooperate in obtaining crucial information from the Predacon supremacist spy you share a cell with.”

Surprise and incredulity hit before revulsion.

“...What? I— he can’t  _ speak _ .”

“But you’ve got other ways of making him communicate, do you not?”

He  _ did _ , sort of, but that was beside the point here. Starscream was not stupid; he knew as well as any other Pred that “Predacon supremacist” was fancy Maximal speak for a Predacon who managed to be a thorn on the side of  _ Maximal _ supremacy. But he was  _ curious _ , just a little.

“What  _ is _ this new information regarding my case?” He asked, carefully — maybe he could make something out of this yet.

“Testimonies from your coworkers suggest you might have acted in self-defense.”

Oh.  _ Oh no _ . He didn’t like where this was going.

“How do you  _ poison  _ someone in self-defense, o esteemed officer?” Starscream taunted, sickly sweet, “I’m pretty sure we established very well just how premeditated this was in my trial.”

One of the guards holding him kicked the legs of the chair, but stopped at the interrogator’s raised hand.

“Yes, I suppose that is true. Your poison was a brilliant work of chemical engineering for someone under... such duress.” The interrogator stressed the last words in a way that Starscream most definitely didn’t like; a mix of fake, exaggerated pity and amusement. Starscream wanted to tear off his weird little bug mouthparts. “Certainly, were you in a different situation, were you not so  _ desperate _ , you could’ve dosed it just right and never been found out. Maybe you could’ve climbed your way up the ranks of Lifeline Memorial’s nursing positions with a trail of greyed out frames, if your confession that you just  _ really _ wanted to get your skill acknowledged is to be taken at face value. But that’s not quite it, is it?”

Starscream’s expression grew tight, trying to keep himself from reacting. He wasn’t sure if he loathed more the idea of Maximal authorities  _ knowing _ about it and doing nothing, or of them specifically acknowledging his case with political —  _ social repression _ — motivations. He wanted his former ward manager dead and in the ground, not “held accountable” by whatever means Maximal justice saw fit to coddle him with.

Still, maybe...

“If my case gets reevaluated, if there’s a chance I might be cleared of my current charges, that means I get to be tried again in liberty, yes?”

“That would depend only on your cooperation and the relevance of the information you extract, but yes, that is a possibility.”

“There is a possibility, then, that I might cooperate.  _ If _ ,” and he highly emphasised that  _ if _ , “you start turning those gears right now. Gather information, build my case, get me a court date, and  _ then _ I’ll consider it.”

“Very well, then,” the interrogator stood up and motioned at the guards, “Take him away, I’ll be in contact soon enough.”

* * *

BB was awake and expecting him when they shoved him back into the cell. Starscream smiled at him, a placating kind of smile like a nonverbal “I’m fine, don’t worry”. It wasn’t fine, it obviously wasn’t, but Starscream held onto the semblance of normalcy until the guards were truly gone.

Then he finally let himself be overcome by the trembling rage that’d been itching at him the instant he realised just what they were holding against him. The feeling was not new, had been present every time the ward manager so much as talked to him, telling Starscream to tear him apart with his bare hands, but it was always intense the same. Maybe this murderous rage  _ had _ been why he failed in preparing his concoction, in killing in a more refined, clean way. Maybe he really ought to have simply slit the bastard’s fuel lines with his claws.

“Roger?”

He hadn’t realised BB had come to stand with him in the meager space between their beds, where Starscream still stood, overcome by the past. Starscream looked up at that so compassionate masked face and somehow he felt  _ seen _ , even without words between them.

Starscream raised his arms, very intentionally telegraphing his intention; BB nodded, and Starscream let himself melt into the first genuine hug he'd had since he left his creators' home. BB's hand softly patted his back as he completely smooshed his front on BB's chest and never had he thought that a prison cell would be the scenery to the real,  _ wanted _ touch he'd been deprived of for so long.

"I'm getting us out of here," he whispered through static, "My word, I  _ will _ get us out of here."


	6. Chapter 6

They started to whisk away Starscream about every decaorn since that first time they took him. It concerned him even though there was not one sign of rough handling on his plating; Black Bomber could easily see the clenched jaw he’d come back with every one of those times. He’d offer comfort at times, others Starscream would ask, and so he’d keep watch over the trembling little jet with an arm around his shoulders.

It was strange, though, that Black Bomber’s torture sessions had become less frequent since then. They’d become no less brutal, but the lack of fresh wounds to be reopened made them more bearable. Starscream still offered his version of comfort though, delicate hands fiddling with everything they could to lessen pain and increasingly fond conversation, both spoken and signed.

About a quartex and a half into this new routine, Starscream came back… happy, for lack of a better word. He seemed strained, as always, but there was a curl to his upper lip and a lilt to his wings that bode far too well.

“Roger?” BB inquired, no clarifying signs required.

“I’m getting retried, BB,” Starscream answered with a shadow of a smile, but his voice wavered a little, “I’ll get a hearing in a quartex to see if I get provisional liberty for it.” He looked over at BB with a sad fondness before moving closer and sitting on the edge of BB’s bed with him, leaning close after a confirming glance up. BB wrapped an arm around his back. “I don’t want to leave you here. I know so little about you, but I want—,” his vocaliser clipped, and Starscream moved away to sign as well as speak, “I want to know  _ everything _ .”

Except his hands said, very ardently,  _ “Lie to me, best as you can” _ , and Black Bomber figured out then what must be the catch in this situation: Starscream  _ had _ been planted to obtain information, as he’d initially thought, but he was very set on playing the system, in obtaining his reward without compromising Black Bomber’s secrets.

This he could respect.

So he made a simple sign:  _ Ask _ .

* * *

And, over time, ask Starscream did. As he prepared for his hearing, Black Bomber fed him false information plausible enough for Maximal authorities to not question his cooperation.

Sometimes he added true information as well, that which his enemies already had, if only so Starscream would  _ know. _ They’d come up with a new sign to convey full sincerity, and it was beginning with it that Starscream confessed to something unthinkable:

“I think in another life I could’ve been one of you. I… I told you my creators were ‘old glory days’ type mechs, didn’t I? Maybe I ought to have listened to them more.”

Starscream didn’t look at him directly when he said it, no, but he sounded so very determined. It could’ve been an affectation to make his mining for information seem more plausible, but the somber tone of it marked this as a possible in.

Black Bomber took one of Starscream’s hands between his and pressed on it one of the few chirolinguistic phrases he knew.

“I… I don’t know chiro. Just Sign,” Starscream cracked a soft smile, and the press of hands that answered —  _ Decepticons forever _ — indicated that he really had learnt just enough from his diehard creators.

* * *

The day of Starscream’s preliminary trial came far too soon. BB would’ve felt guilty about thinking of it like that if Starscream hadn’t been an anxious mess the night before, curled into a ball on his bed with turbines roaring in vain until BB approached to simply stay with him. He knew by morning that neither of them had slept, but at least Starscream seemed calmer and the streaks of coolant down his face were easily wiped away.

“ _ I’m getting you out of here, _ ” he signed, so very serious, a little before his lawyer and one of his sisters came to take him away, just after they disentangled from one last big, comfortable hug. 

The joors that followed were nerve-wracking. Objectively, he knew they wouldn’t hurt Starscream, not physically at least — he had, to all appearances, been more than cooperative, he’d earnt his reward, hadn’t he? —, but the worry didn’t cease, knowing that Starscream would have to recount his  _ true _ story as for why he’d attempted murder, probably in more detail than he could take, in order to be allowed to be free for his real trial, where he’d have to relive it once more.

That they did not bring Starscream back at any moment, even to say goodbye, indicated that the little guy had succeeded. There was no real need for him to come back to the cell; he had no belongings in there, they’d all be in common storage — Black Bomber got reminded of all the times Starscream mentioned how he missed having his mask as a buffer, how it got taken from him when he was admitted — and that, along with a medical office where they could remove the inhibitor spike, would be the only stops before… before Starscream was well and truly gone.

Black Bomber deigned himself to at least be happy for him. Starscream was an adorable and charismatic little Predacon, and really deserved to have a nice life after all of this. It was a pleasure getting to know him, even if just for the one stellar cycle.

He didn’t actually expect Starscream — puny, little,  _ civilian _ Starscream — to make good on that last promise.

How wrong he was.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand we hit big seven! turning points!
> 
> i would like to point out that this chapter has been pre-written for a while, and that it contains our main character taking advantage of social movements he'd normally not participate in (though they do benefit him) for personal gain - this WILL be addressed in future chapters but i felt it would be necessary to add a foreword about it
> 
> as much as this is a "villain origin story", starscream's character development along it is very much towards the better (bc we are decepticon/predacon apologists in this house) as he learns to think about people other than himself and i hope i can express that in upcoming chapters!
> 
> either way i now leave you with chapter 7! thank you for your time

Starscream never intended on making past his retrial. He'd been so numbed by  _ absolute failure _ the first time that he'd simply pled "guilty"; indicting his intended murder victim for persistent verbal abuse, inappropriate touching and just generally  _ impeding Starscream's career _ had never been an option, and that had not changed. Yes, he'd taken that nasty deal to do just that, but the important part was the chance to be rid of that horrible place, if only for a short while.

His downtown apartment in Stanix had been rented out to someone else in the stellar cycle he'd been imprisoned, and his creators' home out in the Acid Wastes was out of the question, so he was stuck in a hotel room in Cybertropolis, paid for by his younger sister Ramjet. 

It was nothing if not strategic to have chosen  _ her _ specifically to call on — while their other sister Acid Storm was more involved in direct action, Ramjet was just as competent and much less suspicious. It helped that she was also a tech head, and her expertise would be central to making this all work.

She’d been a little puzzled when he asked her to sweep for bugs, but did it either way. Though he had a court-ordered tracking device installed, Ramjet’s found no evidence of any  _ listening _ devices on him or the room, an oversight that Starscream had been very much counting on — he wasn’t important enough to be surveilled and his resistance to the Predacon radicalism he’d grown up amongst marked him as harmless; just the type of underestimation that would be their undoing. And so, with that reassurance, Starscream could finally begin to scheme once more.

He'd downloaded and printed every scheme of the Correctional Facility he could find, got in contact with Acid Storm's group, and called all five of his creators to tell them he loved them and also could they bring his old hunting rifle when they came to visit him?

"What is the purpose of all of this though?" Ramjet had asked one orn as they pored over the final infiltration plan, "I'm with you one hundred percent in the prison abolition front, but bail and commissary funds are a much better investment than a prison break."

"I met someone."

Ramjet's face grew tight in concern.

"And that someone can't be freed by legal recourse?"

“Political prisoner."

“Oh.”

Ramjet went silent and averted her gaze, thinking.

“Do you have a plan for  _ after _ ? You'll be fugitives, you know?"

"I know," Starscream's voice grew soft, uncertain, "I could just go back to the Acid Wastes, I know how to handle myself there, but I think I have a plan. It's a really long shot, but if we get a spaceship…"

Ramjet's apparent concern only grew, but she continued to help him.

* * *

The big day came in a blaze of chaos and pinpoint precision.

He'd scheduled a visit to BB with remarkable ease, and, though he was frisked head to toe before being allowed in, they neglected to search finely inside his cockpit and his handheld subspace generator remained undiscovered. He’d taken the care to plan this together with Acid Storm and her group and schedule it for the same day and time as an already established demonstration against the Convoy Council, which would keep attentions and policing on the  _ other _ side of the street, and Starscream was so confident he could make this  _ work _ .

The way back to the cell he’d been held in made his tanks ache with unpleasant memories, but all of that melted down when he finally saw BB, up and waiting for him by the energy bars.

He centred himself, checking his internal chronometer. He had half a breem before the estimated beginning of repression as organiser Shadowjump got further into their speech, so he’d better make it count.

Starscream approached the cell with caution, glancing back at the guard before softly greeting his former cellmate.

“Starscream…” slurred BB as he bent down to optic level and a sharp zing of  _ something _ burned low in Starscream’s chest. It was in the same family of feelings as that  _ oh Primus I care about you now _ he’d gotten when he first put a name to BB, but much more fond and  _ happy _ than acutely distressed.

“I hope that means you’ve been keeping up with your exercises,” Starscream squeezed his optics close and waved his hands, as BB wouldn’t be able to see him smile behind the mask, “Your recovery is very important to me, you see?”

Testing a bit just how far they would let him, Starscream carefully weaved his hand between the energy bars, heat and electricity biting at his plating even without touching them, and held it out for BB to take. After a short pause, he did, and Starscream pressed into his palm a slight modification of the original motto,  _ Predacons forever _ .

He held it a klik more, just enough for the timer to go off and Shadowjump to hit their mark and draw out the worst from the MCSF with the sheer power of their words _. _ He pulled away slowly from BB’s hand as he noticed off the corner of his optic the guard shift, surely receiving some very unpleasant info on their comm, and in a moment’s notice summoned his rifle from subspace and swung it backwards with all the strength his little body could muster.

To the surprise of that guard and many other bastards throughout his life, Starscream was  _ much _ stronger than he looked. He abhorred violence, true, much preferred sly subterfuge, but sometimes enough was enough.

The guard stumbled backwards and Starscream didn’t lose an astrosecond in pushing them towards the energy bars of the cell behind them, where the strong current finished knocking them out. Starscream took a shot towards their t-cog for good measure before getting his toolbox out of subspace and getting to work on cleanly removing one of their hands.

The prisoners surrounding him watched in stunned silence as Starscream connected the hand to his own output ports and used it to disperse the bars cell by cell. After a quiet urging, the rampage began.

Immediate goal achieved, Starscream slumped forward, spent and full of nervous energy. He tore the guard’s hand from his chassis and threw it towards the body, plating ruffling in a disgusted shiver and internal fans roaring with strain.

A soft “Roger?” came from behind him as he continued to hyperventilate. Starscream turned back in a flash, grip tight on his weapon, but coming face to chest with BB brought him back to reality.

Breathless, Starscream pressed himself to his front in a tight, desperate hug, and BB’s strong arms came to wrap gently around him. He pulled away far too quickly, but they needed to  _ hurry _ .

“We need to leave,” he said, finally, and held tight to one of BB’s hands, “Don’t let go.”

And so they began their run to freedom.


	8. Chapter 8

In this one joor, Black Bomber had gone from resigned to wistful to confused to  _ absolutely bewildered _ to amazed and impressed. One moment he was holding Starscream's little hand through the bars, the other they were hiding in the back entrance of a nearby building as BB attempted to disable the tracker inserted in the hole left behind by the inhibitor spike in Starscream's mouth with a laser scalpel far too small for him.

He was covered in a cube's worth of food grade energon, mode lock shorted out, and they'd reclaimed a second blaster on their way out of the Correctional Facility; disabling Starscream's tracker was all that was left before they could really run for it. Black Bomber tried to ignore how intimate it felt to hold Starscream's mouth open as he worked, but the lidded optics staring back at him made him very keenly aware of it.

The distinctive  _ click _ of the tracker disengaging couldn't have come too soon.

Black Bomber pulled his thumb from the crook of Starscream’s jaw and watched him spit out the little chip and stomp on it for good measure. There was a smear of oral lubricant on his cheek when he turned back to thank BB before putting his mask back on, and he tried not to think hard about it.

He tried not to think too hard about  _ all of it _ . Black Bomber still wasn’t clear on exactly what Starscream even  _ did _ to get him out like this, but it was so much, and it was  _ for him.  _ Starscream could’ve had a reasonably comfortable life were he able to win his case, but he chose the inane little promise he’d made to BB. Black Bomber had resigned himself to being forgotten in the Cybertronian carceral system after he went dark on his handlers in Dinosaur — being freed by one disgruntled Cybertron-born  _ apolitical _ Predacon was a development he didn’t know how to act upon.

Outside, the conflict between protestors and police intensified as a discoursing black kangaroo was apprehended by the Security Forces, but their Maximal allies were substituting protesting Predacons in the frontlines and giving them a chance to flee. The other prisoners Starscream had released must surely be among them. Despite everything, this all seemed so supremely  _ well-organised _ that it bellied having been planned meticulously with a large pre-existing group — Black Bomber only hoped they had a stable base and financial support to deal with legal repercussions.

Starscream pushed past him to peek out the half-open door, taking BB’s hand once more in a firm grip. 

“You see that, BB?” He pointed out the retreating protestors — technorganic and purely technological — and the transports leaving with them. “We will blend in with the stampede, take a wagon back h—,” he backtracked, “to Hydrax and I’ll fix you up with a ride back to the homeplanet at the old spaceport, sound good?”

Black Bomber pulled on his hand so he’d turn back to him and, with his free hand, pointedly made a sign:

“Help.”

“What?”

“Help  _ them _ ,” BB complemented, hand moving sharply, “They help us. We help them.”

“I’ve done my part here. I’m not getting us recaptured because you wanted to help people who chose to put themselves on the line for this _. _ ” Starscream’s voice was harsh, but was quick to turn pleading, “Please, I… I put so much at risk for this.”

It was like a bucket of icy water being poured over his head. Maybe Black Bomber ought to have expected this, but it was no less disappointing.

“ _ Nurse _ ,” he signed, and jabbed at Starscream’s cockpit with his index finger, “Make an effort.”

Starscream seemed to flinch under his words, and conflict was evident on his optics when he finally conceded, somewhat.

“If we run into anyone needing help, I’ll help them, I promise that. But I’m  _ not _ running directly at the Maxies, deary.” After that brief moment of anger, he turned soft again, “Now let’s go? Please? I want this to work.”

Black Bomber figured that was the best he would get, so he finally conceded with his first “Roger” in a while, patting gently on Starscream’s shoulder.

Hand in hand once more, they pushed out into the open and followed the crowd.

* * *

They reached a transport bound for Hydrax Region with little issue, thankfully. Other, more prepared street medics were already attending to the injured they’d come across, and most of the help they could provide was helping to load the severely injured into ambulance alt modes, but it was still  _ help _ — anything to pay the dues of them having been used as a distraction.

Trouble, though, still found them once boarded and ready to leave. No security officers had followed them just yet, no, but mechs maimed by them sure had.

Starscream had gasped softly when the technorganic with the destroyed shoulder clambered in just before door closing, and signed a quick “Stay” to BB before moving forward to where they’d collapsed, toolbox in hand once more.

Black Bomber thought best to heed Starscream’s warning and keep a safe distance, but his gaze and attention did not wander from the nurse and his patient as the transport hummed to life and took off for its destination. He wasn’t alone in looking; the bus was in deathly silence as all optics and eyes were glued to the struggling bird and a nice, personable little jet who so, so softly chirped inane conversation as he tore through circuitry and flesh melted into slag in order to safely remove the arm right at the joint.

The disgusting squelch of butchery had echoed through the vehicle for far too long when Starscream finally finished on the wound and gave the mech a little pat on the face. He promised them a full written report on the procedure by the time of arrival — just so the actual doctor who had to clean up his mess would be fully aware of what he’d done —, and, silently, came back to where BB sat.

He didn’t look directly at him when he mumbled, “I can be good when I want to, too.” and went right back to work on a disposable datapad.

BB  _ really _ couldn’t begin to parse the conjunction of Starscream’s actions.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayyyy we're back! sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, life happens so much

Report finished and delivered, Starscream saw fit to allow himself to sulk.  _ What had he done wrong?  _ He’d been  _ nice _ — vicious and ruthless about it, yes, but  _ nice _ —, he’d taken his head out of his own afterburners and decided to help further than just his morbid fascination with internal machinery and pathogens took him, but there was only so much he  _ could _ do. He was just one mech, and he rather prized his physical integrity.

It was crazy how much he wanted BB’s approval. He’d never quite wanted it from anyone else before; too much of his life had been doing things to spite others and to further his own ends, but something about this mech, his existence as a hint of a bigger rebellion against the society that had hurt them and his ever-so-kind demeanour, made Starscream want to, for lack of better terms, follow his lead. It was disastrous though, because Starscream was a terrible follower and an even worse friend.

When had been the last time Starscream even had a friend? He didn’t want to think about it.

Lines of thought warred in his head over the correct course of action. Some said he should apologise, others said that was an empty action and what the hell was he even apologising for? It made his processor ache, and he looked up at BB out the corner of his optic to confirm if his apprehensions had any foundation.

It seemed not. BB was dozing lightly — the noises of his frame diminished, but clearly still at a level of functioning that would not compromise him should he be forced to spring to action —, and that warmed Starscream’s spark, just a little. 

Still, Starscream owed it to him to  _ do better, _ and he supposed they’d have to talk about it sometime.

The bus ride was filled with uncertain murmurs from other passengers, either uneasy about the mess they were escaping or about the not really that gruesome scene they’d just witnessed at the start of the trip, and it was when the murmurs ceased that Starscream popped out of his little bubble of thought and realised something was deeply wrong.

The transport had stopped moving. The driver was nowhere to be seen inside it, but a cursory look out the window revealed that he had exited.  _ To talk with the Security Force. _

Where were they now?

Further inspection of their surroundings allowed him to identify that they were just some hics from the canyon bridge leading into the plateau from the Cybertropolis-Hydrax route.

_ Close _ . Still, panic hit once more. Starscream grabbed BB’s arm, awakening him. They were at the very back of the transport and, as much as there  _ was _ a door right there, they had no means of leaving without calling the Maxies’ attention.

“Roger?”

Starscream directed BB’s attention to the windows, still not letting go of his arm. “We’re screwed.”

They really, really were. Though they had one rifle and one stolen blaster, Starscream was not a fighter and had a really tough time thinking on his feet, and there were five whole officers with heavy duty blasters and built-in weapons outside. There was no way he could use his bumfuck nowhere countryside kid hunting skills to plan a daring escape in one single breem.

Out of nowhere, breaking Starscream from his overthinking, BB stood. Starscream looked up at him wide-opticked as he offered him a hand and tilted his head in a “follow me” motion. Yes, right, he knew next to  _ nothing _ about BB’s real qualifications other than he was posing as a bodyguard and was a master at withstanding torture, he ought to know how to deal with being outnumbered much better than Starscream.

Starscream took the hand, and once he was up on his feet BB scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder, right where a gun mount would’ve been. Whatever negative reaction he would normally have to being manhandled stayed uncharacteristically silent — he trusted BB, and this was an extenuating circumstance.

The rising whispers and gasps from their fellow passenger were muffled by the sound of BB kicking the bus’ back door once, twice,  _ thrice _ until it was bent and open just enough for him to force it the rest of the way with his hands. The turbulence was in no way pleasant for Starscream, but he held on tight to his partner.

The noise had alerted the security force, it seemed, and he heard more than saw one approach the back of the bus only to be demolished by BB’s sheer strength and the power of the unexpected. As BB turned his back to the main group of officers by the front, Starscream could clearly see them tout their guns and prepare for direct assault and pursuit. BB picked up into a run and they changed into alt mode — all beasts — to follow him.

The cyberdrenaline flowing through his body had Starscream completely frozen in place, brain completely blank of everything except  _ oh slag oh slag oh slag _ and he was  _ so lucky _ it also had his reaction time significantly enhanced when BB transformed into  _ a tank mode _ . He grabbed on tight to the rear end of it, barely skirting a shot from their pursuers.

All the sounds of battle and pursuit and Starscream’s own maxed out processor had him miss several times the warning sounds from underneath, so focused he was on how thoroughly  _ screwed _ they were, but as the fire dialled down for one parsec he could finally hear BB’s engine growl in binary code:  _ Gun. _

_ Right, of course! _ Starscream lifted his chest just one bit from BB’s back and unsubspaced their own heavy duty blaster and focused all those cycles of hunting for singlehorns and shooting down feral pigatrons on gaining them an  _ advantage _ . His hands felt awkward on this new gun and his aim was most definitely shaky, but it was something.

The chase felt endless. Starscream was starting to regain some clarity by the time the body under him shifted again and they were  _ falling _ . The canyon, he realised; they’d finally reached it.

Before he could finish processing it, BB had transformed into a third mode — a stealth bomber —, and this reminded Starscream to do the same.

For all that he was technically in his home region, Starscream had never flown into this part of the canyon before, and he doubted BB had at any point. Still, they dodged the remaining shots as they made their way down and out of range, just focused on  _ getting away. _

The canyon was deep. Very deep. But right as Starscream was about to just accept they’d have to stop at the bottom, he identified a ledge with the opening to a cave. He flew closer to BB, encouraging him to follow, and soon they were back in root mode venting steam inside the enclosed space as they gathered themselves.

They did it! They escaped the MCSF! Starscream’s hoarse laughter barely escaped his vocaliser as he slumped forward, leaning on BB as his systems wound down.

With the cyberdrenaline finally starting to wear off, Starscream noticed a hint of blooming pain spreading through his back as consciousness started failing him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand we're back! you might have noticed that our schedule is no longer "every three weeks" and i am sorry for taking away that bit of consistency, but i ran out of pre-written chapters and have a lot of concurrent projects going on
> 
> either way, back to the villain romance origin story

BB had kept a clear head as he ran from the MCSF with Starscream over his shoulder, had kept it even as they jumped into the abyss of the canyon, but it all came crashing down as he noticed Starscream's venting systems stall as he collapsed onto BB's side, unconscious.

Before Starscream could fully lose balance and fall on the floor, BB tried to wrap an arm around his back, but singed his hand on an insanely hot spot between the wings — had he been shot? —, so he decided to set him down gently on the cool ore. Though he’d long learned Starscream didn’t like laying on his front, he set him face down so he could evaluate the wound. Black Bomber might not be the nurse between them, but they had little other option with Security Forces out for their mechfluid.

The plasma shot, probably not from a standard MCSF assault rifle, seemed to have caused only cosmetic damage at a first look, but the fact that it’d hit the plating right over Starscream’s secondary processor and thermoregulation hub and caused him to faint with delayed effect implied that there was something more to this. Again, Black Bomber was no doctor, but he’d been trained to counter all known weapons used by Maximal Council forces, and this seemed just like a neural scrambler-type weapon — typically reserved for off-planet peacekeepers, but also present in SWAT teams on Cybertron. 

One relief was that the stun effect was temporary, would wear off in two to five joors, depending on the innervation of systems affected. The bad news, however, was that Starscream would probably be grounded and unable to do extenuating activity for a long time, which was a big deterrent considering they were in a cave in the Hydrax Canyon’s rock face several hics from both the top and the bottom of it. Black Bomber supposed he could fly with Starscream hanging on to his fuselage, but stress and close proximity would probably overheat him without a functioning ventilation system.

Resigned to the fact that he could do nothing about it for the time being, BB put Starscream on his back in the most comfortable position he could get him in, and left to search the innards of the cave for energon deposits.

* * *

It took about three and a half joors for Starscream to regain consciousness. Black Bomber had returned from his foray into the tunnel system after a little more than a joor with a subspace full of energon crystals and had posted himself sitting right beside Starscream’s prone body, taking the time to finally refuel. Not long after, Starscream began to stir with twitchy involuntary movements, wings clattering against the floor and voicebox producing a mix of pained gasps and audio feedback — it hurt his spark to see it, but interfering ran the risk of hurting him further, so he just watched, careful hand ready to help. The seizing came and went for some two joors, but after the longest yet his optics flickered to life in a blinding flash.

“Roger?” BB leaned over him, non intrusively, looking over his masked face.

Starscream panted hard, like he was trying to cool himself through manual venting, desperate and scared, but his optics soon returned to normal brightness and focused on BB.

“...” His vocaliser spat a burst of high-pitched static, “W-what is— I can’t— BB?” 

Starscream struggled, movements unsteady, spasming hands reaching for his own face. Black Bomber pressed a steadying hand to his cockpit, and unlatched Starscream’s mask for better air intake. It wouldn’t normally be impeditive, not with how overall unimportant the mouth was in ventilation, but it must not be helping the panic of scrambled neural systems and completely shot thermoregulation. Gratefulness showed in Starscream’s optics, but his dark face remained twisted in pain, sharp teeth drawing energon from his lip.

“Wha-what happened t-to me?”

* * *

Explaining Starscream’s injury was a rather complicated matter with his impairments in communication, but with a mixture of signed metaphor, fingerspelling and guessing games Black Bomber managed to convey to Starscream the basics on his new limitations. It didn’t go over too well, what with Starscream's strong, stubborn personality, but he’d received a nice “thanks” for the care and was given a nanite salve to apply on the plasma burn while Starscream ran his own diagnostics on himself.

Starscream’s own evaluation didn’t come with a much better prognosis than BB’s, but Starscream was certain he would be able to fly in a couple of orns with no issue with enough of the regen boosters in his tool box. 

But that would mean nothing if he didn’t remain well-fueled, so BB pulled him from his planning and sulking and invited him to partake in the crystal haul with him.

“I’d never had these before,” Starscream mentioned, rolling a shard between his back teeth, too sharp and thin to crush it, “Guess there was good reason.” He had managed to sit up by now, leaning half on BB and half on the wall, but his face still looked tired, even as he joked.

“Try this,” BB signed to him, and then proceeded to start giving the large crystal in his hand long licks, “Melt it good.”

Starscream let out some breathy laughter, but tried out the new method either way. By the more alert look in his face, he’d found it to be workable. After all, Starscream might be some custom built pretty jet from the Acid Wastes, but all Cybertronians should have enough corrosives in their oral lubricant to at least slightly dissolve energon crystals, though maybe a born and bred hunter like him might have corrosives geared more to destroying the plating of mechanimals. Fun things to wonder about.

But from then on their dinner was fine and uneventful; just a warm and happy bonding experience to cherish once they parted ways for good. They’d have to discuss their plans for leaving the canyon and reaching the derelict spaceport sometime, but that could wait until tomorrow, until they both had enough of a head on their shoulders to think so heavily again.

Hopefully, things would be better by then.


End file.
